


Plausible Deniability

by vgersix



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Tease (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Good Omens 30, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Masturbation, Phone Sex, Pre-apocanope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23955661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vgersix/pseuds/vgersix
Summary: He imagined Aziraphale surrounded by stacks of cakes, suddenly realizing he was going to have to eat them all himself. Aziraphale, exploding into a mass of all-seeing eyes and holy light, offering a terrified pair of would-be robbers a perfectly plated bundt cake with strict instructions to go home and rethink their lives. Oh, if only Crowley could have been a fly on the wall for that interaction. He’d loved to have seen it. But, he mused, imagining it was proving just as fun. Had Aziraphale slipped up when handing the baked goods over? Had they been proper hands clutching the base of an elaborately wrought silver platter? Or had he forgotten himself in his fury, letting them blink into blinding orbs of radiant energy instead, just for an instant? Had the men doubted their sanity for a moment before fleeing in terror? The possibilities were endless — and endlessly delightful.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 154





	Plausible Deniability

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 30th Anniversary, _Good Omens_ friends!! This is obviously inspired by the ANNIVERSARY VIDEO. Please don't let the slightly sad ending make you sad. We all know the real ending is ultimately a happy one. I imagine this takes place sometime not long before the Apocanope.

“I could hunker down at your place. Slither over and watch you eat cake.”

_Slither over._

_**Watch you eat cake.** _

What the _fuck_ was he thinking, saying something like that? Had he completely lost his infernal mind?

Well, very nearly. It had been almost two months since he’d left his flat in Mayfair and there were only so many reruns of _The Golden Girls_ and _The Good Place_ one could binge through before one’s mind began to fray at the edges. He’d seen them all already in any case. Now he’d seen them all multiple times. 

He glared at the phone on his desk, waiting; hoping for it to ring. Aziraphale would be on the other end, fretting about how he really shouldn’t be doing this but, “Oh, well. What harm could it do, really? All right, dear boy. I suppose I could come over for a time — bring you some of that angel food cake you like and hang about for a bit.”

His eye twitched as he willed the phone to ring. It trembled a little, skittering across the desk by a millimeter, apologetic in its inability to comply. Aziraphale wasn’t phoning back.

Crowley slumped back in his chair with a sigh. He could go take that nap, after all. He could. But now his mind was reeling with too much new information — images of Aziraphale baking. Baking??? The angel didn’t even have a proper kitchen in the bookshop, did he? Just a hot plate and kettle for making tea; maybe a toaster oven. How was he managing to bake? Crowley had always assumed Aziraphale was more likely to set the place on fire than produce anything edible if he ever tried his hand at cooking. Apparently, a proper cookbook and too much time on his hands was all he’d ever needed to channel his inner Julia Child. 

He imagined Aziraphale surrounded by stacks of cakes, suddenly realizing he was going to have to eat them all himself. Aziraphale, exploding into a mass of all-seeing eyes and holy light, offering a terrified pair of would-be robbers a perfectly plated bundt cake with strict instructions to go home and rethink their lives. Oh, if only Crowley could have been a fly on the wall for that interaction. He’d loved to have seen it. But, he mused, imagining it was proving just as fun. Had Aziraphale slipped up when handing the baked goods over? Had they been proper hands clutching the base of an elaborately wrought silver platter? Or had he forgotten himself in his fury, letting them blink into blinding orbs of radiant energy instead, just for an instant? Had the men doubted their sanity for a moment before fleeing in terror? The possibilities were endless — and endlessly delightful. 

Before he really had a chance to think, he was unbuttoning his jeans and wriggling out of them just enough to get his cock free. Fuck, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this inspired, but the thing had apparently manifested of its own accord somewhere between Aziraphale saying the words, “gave them a good talking to” and, “I got peckish.” 

What was Aziraphale even playing at? He’d called _him_. He’d called, and for what? To check on him. To _check_? What a joke. That angel was a bloody tease and he blessed well knew it. 

Crowley took his dick in hand, not altogether shocked to find pre-come already beading at the tip of it. Fucking Hell, was the sound of his angel’s voice all it took to get him hot and ready these days? Was he that pathetically far gone? He already knew the answer to these very embarrassing questions was yes, so he wasn’t sure why he bothered asking himself anymore.

He settled in, trying to ignore the inner voice in his head that was, as always, whispering in the back of his mind that he shouldn’t be doing this — the angel would be horrified if he knew, would probably never speak to him again. But if Aziraphale didn’t want to inspire vice in Crowley, he really shouldn’t call him up to yammer on affectionately about food and all but encourage Crowley to run out and tempt the people toward risky behavior. Honestly. How could he not know what he was doing? He had to know. He was pressing each and every one of Crowley’s buttons simultaneously. He _had_ to know. 

Crowley slunk even deeper into the chair, his spine contracting into a tight curve as he stroked himself to the edge. One of his feet came up to rest on the corner of the desk, pressing against it for leverage and causing the giant chair to tip backwards just barely. He was close. Oh, _fuck_ he was close — thoughts of what Aziraphale might do if he just showed up at the bookshop unannounced danced through his head. 

That little faux disapproving look would be on his face. 

“Crowley!” He’d say. “I thought I told you not to come. You said you were going to nap.”

Crowley would make some quip about how he was a demon, and demons were meant to break the rules, and Aziraphale would smirk flirtatiously and then…

The phone rang.

Crowley nearly lept out of the chair in surprise. He did manage to kick a paperweight off into the floor as his foot slid free of the desk. It crashed against the concrete floor, exploding into little shards of colorful glass. 

He stared at the phone. It rang again. _Fuck_. He was going to have to answer it. If he didn’t answer, the angel would just keep calling back and growing progressively worried, and then he was liable to show up at Crowley’s door. 

He furiously wiped his hand on his jeans and took a deep breath. Satan’s sake, he was on the cusp of orgasm; he could’t… He had to. The phone rang a third time and Crowley drew another shuddering breath into his lungs before reaching for the phone with the same trembling hand that had very recently been wrapped around his cock.

“Yeah?” He said into the receiver, voice as steady and casual as he could manage under the circumstances. “What’s it?”

“Crowley?” The angel did sound worried. “Are you all right?”

“Uh,” Crowley glanced down at his still very erect piece of man-shaped anatomy where it was bobbing in response to the sound of Aziraphale’s voice. Thing seemed to have a mind all its own. This was ridiculous. “Fine,” he said too quickly. “Fine, yes. Just… M’fine. How are you?”

“You don’t sound fine,” Aziraphale replied. “You sound like you’ve just been running a marathon.” 

“Uh…”

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…_

“You know,” Aziraphale went on. “I was thinking, perhaps you’re right. It isn’t as if either of us can actually contract any disease, and we’re both perfectly capable of moving about in the world unnoticed. Why don’t I just pop over for a bit? I could bring you some of that angel food cake you like. Made a whole mess of it, and if it doesn’t get eaten it’ll have to be thrown out, and I certainly wouldn’t want to—”

Aziraphale droned on about the inherent immorality of allowing food to spoil needlessly for the next minute or so and it was then that Crowley really began to become desperate. He was all but panting into the phone, trying fruitlessly to ignore his erection. But the more Aziraphale talked, the more interested it seemed to become.

“So, in any case,” Aziraphale was saying, “I think I will just come by to see you, if it’s all the same.”

“Uh huh,” Crowley nodded dimly. “Ye—okay.” A beat passed before Crowley became aware of what he’d just agreed to. “Wait. What? No!”

“What do you mean, no?” Aziraphale pouted. “You just said—”

“I don’t care what I said, angel. You cannot — don’t — no, you absolutely should not come here right now. Maybe, eh… Tomorrow. You could come over tomorrow.”

Aziraphale let out a petulant little huff that dishonest-to-Satan made Crowley’s dick twitch. He struggled to ignore it, twisting his free hand in the cord of the phone to make a fist. He must have been breathing hard again, because the angel had grown quiet.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, and sweet Satan below, that was it — that was going to be his death — that innocent little phrase that drove him mad. “Are you quite sure there’s nothing I can do for you?”

“No, angel. I—” Crowley froze. What. What was _that_ supposed to mean?

“That is —”Aziraphale clarified. “I mean to say— Being locked up in one’s place all alone for so long can be… Well, there are only so many hobbies to keep one busy, aren’t there?” The angel’s voice took on a playful tone, and it almost sounded like he was intentionally teasing Crowley.

Was he? No. _No_. He couldn’t be. Crowley was imagining things. Unless he’d guessed right. Unless Aziraphale had known exactly what he was doing all along. Had known exactly what Crowley would be doing as soon as he hung up the phone. 

“Yeah…” He stalled, trying to think of anything he might say to confirm his suspicions without being too obvious. “Well, angel. You know how it is. Idle hands are the…” He winced. “Devil’s… work?”

When Aziraphale replied, Crowley didn’t think he’d ever heard the angel sound quite so sure of himself. “That is very true. But then, that is precisely the sort of work you’re meant to be about, isn’t it?”

Well, Crowley had absolutely no coherent response for that. He gulped audibly, adjusting the phone receiver in his grasp as his palms had begun to sweat. 

“Guh,” He tried to gather his wits. “Well, whatever you do, angel. Don’t come over here. I mean, you never know who might be… paying attention.”

The angel hummed in agreement. “Yes. In that case, I imagine you can expect to be up for a promotion soon. What with you doing your job _so_ well, and all.”

Holy _fuck_. No mistaking that, then. He was _encouraging_ Crowley. The demon could hear himself openly panting into the phone now, and made no further effort to stop. 

“Angel?” He sounded desperate and lost even to his own ears. “Are you—?” He trailed off. “What… exactly… Are you saying?” He didn’t want there to be any possibility of miscommunication on this point. 

“I’m saying, my dearest boy,” Aziraphale was all but purring into the phone now, and Crowley imagined him warmly ensconced in his little back room, a book open on his lap, maybe a cup of cocoa cooling on the side table next to him. “That you are certainly the most capable demon I’ve ever met, and you really ought to get on with completing your work, hadn’t you?”

Crowley thought he might just black out.

The sound of Aziraphale taking a polite little sip of something met Crowley’s ears, and he could see him in his mind’s eye, giggling into the wine glass or teacup, or whatever you like. He sighed contentedly, adding, “You certainly don’t need any further permission from the likes of me.”

Crowley bit into his bottom lip, faintly aware of his hand letting go of the phone, tucking it between his ear and shoulder. “Y-yeah? I mean…” He paused, fingers dancing on his thigh. “I d-don’t?”

He could hear the reassuring smile in Aziraphale’s voice. “Well, if you think you do, my dear — then consider it given.”

Crowley let out an involuntary little squeak of surprise. His hand traveled the rest of the way over and he began to stroke himself with no further comment. For once, he was grateful to hear only silence from the other end of the phone.

It wasn’t even a minute before he was teetering on the edge again. He let out a little gasp and moan of pleasure, unable to keep quiet. 

“That’s very good, Crowley.”

He became aware of just how silent Aziraphale had become only when he spoke again. Shit, had the angel just been sitting there, listening to him whine and squirm and… He shuddered to think whatever other sounds had been coming through the phone line. 

Well, whatever sounds there had been thus far, they certainly paled in comparison to the ones he was making now. _Very good_? Had Aziraphale really just said that? He was praising him, for Satan’s sake. 

“Angel? Oh, fuck…” And with that less than eloquent exclamation, he was falling. 

Only Falling had never felt this good. All the while, Aziraphale’s newfound silence spoke volumes. The knowledge that he could hear every desperate noise as it was wrenched helplessly from Crowley’s own lips only further fueled his orgasm. He nearly toppled the chair before the end, spurting all over his own stomach and finally collapsing in a jumble of limbs as he gasped to catch his breath.

A minute later Aziraphale finally perked up to say, as if nothing unusual had just occurred, “So, I suppose I should come round about lunchtime tomorrow then? I’ll bring that cake and perhaps if you have anything… drinkable… as you mentioned—”

“Not sure that’s a good idea, angel,” Crowley grunted, hating himself even as he said the words. “You were right. Rules, and… and all that.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, sounding slightly crushed but hiding it well. “Right, then. Well, I understand.”

He hated himself — had rarely hated himself so thoroughly before. But how was he supposed to sit down for a polite little afternoon of cake and wine after… _that_? He’d be all right. They’d be all right. He just needed some time to process was all. Surely, the angel would know that.

“I, uh…” Crowley wracked his brain for any acceptable way to end this phone call. Thankfully, the angel seemed fully prepared to handle that too. 

“Not to worry, my dear. I’m quite sure this can’t last for much longer. Shops will be open again soon, and… wine does only grow sweeter with time, doesn’t it?”

The line fell silent. Surely Aziraphale didn’t expect him to have a response for that?

“Thank you, angel.” It felt like a thoroughly inappropriate and stupid thing to say, but it was what he said, regardless. 

“You’re most welcome,” he said, and Crowley could have sworn he heard tears threatening to shatter his customary composure. “Do store a bottle up for us to share, why don’t you? I’m quite sure things are going to change for the better, one day.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said. “Got to. Bye, angel.”

Aziraphale wasn’t talking about pandemic disease or quarantine anymore, and they both knew it. Crowley hung up the phone before he started crying too. 

He had a demonic reputation to keep, after all, and you never knew who might be watching. Maybe someday things would be different. For the time being, this was far more than he’d ever expected or hoped for. And it would just have to do.

Crowley thought he might go and have that nap now, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much as always for reading. I love you all so much and hope you're staying safe and healthy during these wild times. 
> 
> As a quick side note, for those of you who were reading my fic _Getting Sacked_ , if the word isn't out everywhere yet... I've been working on rewriting that into... something else. >____> So hopefully someday not too far in the future I'll have more information to share about that. You can feel free to follow me at my social media links below! <3 
> 
> **[Tumblr](http://vgersix.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ljvaughnwrites)**


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